


The Great Betrayal

by DragonflyxParodies



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Can't believe i haven't done it yet, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Fantasy, Hyrule's a total fucking shitshow, It's called the Great Betrayal for a reason kiddos, M/M, Nobody knows, Novelization, Past Character Death, Please be careful y'all, Politics, Pre- Ocarina of Time, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Sex, Sheik's like, Shits going down, The Great Betrayal, War, War Crimes, im porting this over from FFN, is there a tag for sex, kind of, link's just beyond caring, okay, there's that too, whatever the fuck he is, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonflyxParodies/pseuds/DragonflyxParodies
Summary: This is the story of the Great Betrayal-the War of Blood and Shadows. Of a people massacred by those they swore to protect. Of Royal blood swallowed by greed. Of a warrior who alone stayed true to his oaths. Of the Triforce, and of the Hero who never held it. Pre-OoT. Mostly in-canon, slight AU.
Relationships: Aryll & Link (Legend of Zelda), Link & Alfonzo, Link & Linkle (Legend of Zelda), Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during a very violent and very bloody war. As such, there will be a lot of violence, gore, torture, war crimes, and death. There is implied sexual assault to minor characters, and child killing. Most of The Bad Shit takes place prior to the start of this story or is peripheral, but will likely be touched upon in flashbacks if not directly addressed.
> 
> Once I'm caught up to what's been posted on FFN I'll try to post specific warnings with the chapters as I update, but please feel free to let me know if you think I missed anything!

He woke reaching for a weapon, chest heaving and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead as terror burned in his veins. Half-diluted memories tumbled endlessly around his mind, saturating reality and dragging him out of the safety of his room and into the nightmares he thought he had outrun.

He was watching Aryll’s smile turn terrible and feeling her blood splatter across his face, each droplet frozen in midair as she collapsed to the ground and eyes the same color as her lifeblood regarding him coolly.

He was in his room at the back of Alfonzo’s shop, where he had been staying for the past six months, clutching a wooden staff to his chest as he slammed his back into the corner that the bed was tucked into, tears dripping from his chin onto the blanket tangled around his legs.

He was standing in a stable reeking of horse droppings, meeting the terrified, angry, agonized eyes of a boy no older than he was as distant shouts began to rise through the night air.

He was-

“Link?!” At the intrusion, his memories splintered and fell away. His throat was painfully tight, both with silence and sobs he refused to let free. Gulley’s voice was frightened, and he could hear the heavy thuds of footsteps—Alfonzo—as the blacksmith hurried to the door. Slowly, Link managed to uncurl his body. He drew in a deep, slow breath, letting the staff clatter to the ground as he stood and tugged the door open.

Alfonzo stood just off to the side, his massive broadsword unsheathed in his hands. Gulley was clinging to his father’s leg, eyes round with fear. The giant blacksmith peered over Link’s shoulder into the room, relaxing only once he’d made certain there wasn’t anyone else there. Alfonzo sheathed his sword, eyeing him carefully as Link glanced down at Gulley questioningly.

The little boy let go of Alfonzo and tackled his legs, nearly sending him crashing to the ground.

“Thought there was a Blood Eye up here, way you screamed. You alright?” Link slowly nodded, bending down and picking Gulley up as the boy clutched him tightly.

“Didja have a nightmare?” Gulley asked, slowly lifting his head from where it was buried in Link’s shoulder. He nodded hesitantly, gaze dark when it met Alfonzo’s.

He’d thought he’d be fine if he returned. It had been nice, sort of, to come back to a familiar place and see people he already knew. He should have known better than to get his hopes up.

“Where will you go?” Alfonzo asked softly, reading the intent in his eyes as he reached forward and took his son from Link.

He stood there for a moment, not making any sort of acknowledgement of the question, then slipped past Alfonzo and out into the shop itself. He felt the blacksmith following him, heard Gulley whisper something to his father and the low rumble of Alfonzo’s response.

Tacked up on the wall was a map of Hyrule, displayed just above a rack of iron weapons. Link paused just before it, gaze flicking across its surface.

All of the Eldin and Faron provinces had been covered in a thick layer of charcoal. Parts of Lanayru had been similarly darkened. Forty years and they were slowly but surely loosing Hyrule. Not just the land—the way things were going, by the time the war came to an end it would be because there wasn’t anyone left to fight.

He’d spent the last few years roaming Lanayru province. There wasn’t any place left for him to go in it now—he’d already been to all of the settlements. Ordona province looked promising, though he would have to pass through Faron province to get there.

Still, it would be worth it, if he found peace there.

He tapped Ordona with a finger and glanced over his shoulder at Alfonzo, a small, sad smile flickering across his face.

The blacksmith slowly nodded, giving him a similar expression as he adjusted his grip on Gulley.

“Are you going to leave now?” It was Gulley who asked, and the question made Link freeze for a moment. It was asked so quietly, so tearfully.

But chaotic, bloody eyes burned in the back of his mind and he nodded quickly, before he knew what he was doing.

“But—Link—! You promised to take me fishing tomorrow!”

Alfonzo’s gaze met his over the top of the child’s head, as he handed him to Link, warning him. Guilt fluttered, caught somewhere between the memory of those violent eyes and the six-year-old’s tears. The knot in his throat loosened slightly as he set Gulley on his hip, sucking in a breath as the child wrapped his arms around Link’s throat tightly, burying his head in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” It was hardly more than a whisper, a breath of air, but Gulley heard it, and he went still against him.

“Is this ‘cause of your bad dream?”

Link let out a soft hum, nodding his head slightly against silky strands of hair.

“But what about fishing?”

“Next time.” It was only a touch louder than his apology, but that seemed to satisfy Gulley. The little boy braced his hands against Link’s shoulders and pushed himself far enough away so that he could meet Link’s gaze.

“You swear?”

A smile twitched into existence, and Link nodded. Gulley imitated the movement, making it far more curt and severe and decisive than Link’s had been.

“Good.”

He set the boy down on the floor as Gulley yawned, rubbing at his still-wet eyes.

“Go back to bed.” Alfonzo rumbled softly, gently nudging his son in the direction of his bedroom. Gulley stumbled away wordlessly.

“You know the Guard will accept you back at any time, don’t you?” Alfonzo asked softly once he was out of sight. Link nodded distantly, eyes on the map, on the province he would be heading to soon.

“You’re still our Captain, Link.”

He shook his head, one hand grasping uselessly for his sword hilt. He’d never _truly_ been their Captain.

“If you ever need us…” Alfonzo trailed off, and he nodded solemnly, flashing a wan smile at the blacksmith. It was forced, but Alfonzo didn’t call him out for it.

“Good luck.” Alfonzo clasped his shoulder in one large hand, pulling him for a massive bear hug.

Link returned the embrace, burying his face in his friend’s shoulder. He hated goodbyes—he tried to leave without ever having to say them.

But Alfonzo deserved one.

“Thank you.”

Before Alfonzo could recover, Link was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Not a soul crossed paths with him on the ride to Ordona, save for the occasional wolfos. He found remnants of old campsites, bones scattered by woodland predators, and kept to the trees when sleeping. Some nights the giggling of Kokiri woke him, but simple talismans kept the creatures from attacking, and he left things for them each morning he was in the wood—bits of stone polished until they gleamed, oddly-shaped pieces of wood, carved only slightly to emphasis the shape, sometimes a song hummed to their ever-listening ears. Most travelers forgot that the Faron Wood, and likewise Ordona, belonged to the Kokiri, and forgot that _they_ were the invaders.

And so they let him pass unharmed, though not unmarked. He woke one morning to find his hair braided with feathers, leaves, beads, and vines. Another, to discover his wooden shield painted bright and gaudy with the colors of the earth, and another to find his boots soaking wet, filled with pond water and small fish.

He returned the fish to their pond and walked barefoot that day, but he did not disturb what the Kokiri did to him unless it directly hindered his progress otherwise. He saw no need too, and the continued attention of the Kokiri was more benign than naught for it.

One day, after long hours spent working his way through a carefully woven bramble maze, he stumbled into a clearing.

Not any clearing, but something entirely Kokiri.

The trees swept up to the sky in elegant arches around him, uniform and dripping with silver webs and green tendrils and ripe fruit. Vegetation matted the ground, clovers and flowers and moss and ferns. A spindle of stone curled skyward in the center of the clearing, weathered with age. Carvings had been rent deep into its surface, and they glittered with gold-emerald stone as he came to a halt.

A half-moon of Kokiri had their backs to him, darting blue eyes and flashing green cloth making up most of what he could see of them. They were giggling, moving fast and hurried around something. He approached slowly, cautiously. With no ill-intent radiating from him, the Kokiri ignored him for the most part, though one skipped up to his side and took his hand with cold, wet fingers. She looked up at him, green hair laced intricately with brambles, and smiled.

He glanced down, saw the fingers lacing through his red with blood.

“Stop.” His voice was rough, hoarse with disuse, and quiet—but they heard. Turned, as one, and stepped away from the child they had been accosting.

Their frigid orbs were accusatory, pouting. One opened his mouth and spat something out, in words that reminded Link of the way Faron Woods looked as dusk settled in. Another cried out with the subtle danger of still water and the rocks beneath its placid surface. They were all like that, little bits of danger sewn into Youth Eternal, demigods born of Farore herself. Warriors despite their childishness, protectors despite their cruelty.

He stepped forward, the Kokiri clinging to his hand bouncing alongside him, and knelt beside their victim.

“Blood demands blood.” The girl at his side hummed, her Hylian dancing and sparking in the air like fireflies. He looked up at her, at the Kokiri closed in around them, glanced down at the boy lying discarded and barely conscious and bleeding, ruby orbs staring at him fearfully.

And he nodded, releasing her hand and pulling his sleeve up. A soft sound swept through their number, the crooning of a chilled breeze and the promise of springtime. A dozen hands pressed him back, gently sitting him against the stone spire, the Sheikah tucked against his side. He pulled his cloak off, covered the boy with it, and pulled his shirt off as well. Another sound took hold of them, like birds chirping too fast to fully understand.

They cut so shallowly and so quickly he didn’t feel the pain—didn’t notice he was bleeding until he saw red splash the earth, stain their little hands anew. The girl curled up against his other side, seemingly content to sing as her siblings bled him.

Plant life snaked towards them, attracted to the violence and the bloodshed, as the forest itself drank up what had been spilled. Their scent, thick and heady and dark with the perfume of flowers and green things and rich earth, grew heavier—stronger, until his head was swimming and he felt as if he were floating, the Kokiri’s chattering and the sound of their rustling distant, faint. Until blazing orbs swam up from his memories and all he could see was red, a darker, richer color than his own blood and the cold chill of metal against his throat.

And he fell into dreams more akin to terrors than rest.


	3. Chapter 3

It was evening when he woke. He was slumped against the spire, head throbbing, limbs weak, and something pressing against his side. He blinked, the world swimming around him, and shook his head slowly in an attempt to clear his vision. Instead everything began to swim, and nausea burned like fire in his throat. Breathing hurt, as if his ribs had been shattered, and he struggled to keep the nausea from overtaking him.

It eased away after a few heartbeats, and he dared open his eyes again.

There was a noise, a whimper, when his gaze fell upon what stood in front of him.

The Sheikah child. So painfully thin that his ribs were visible, each and every bone protruding painfully out of his flesh. Blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, staining his clothing. Link’s cloak pooled like a sea at his feet, likewise stained.

Link’s sword was clutched in his hands, though it looked as if the weapons weight would break the child’s wrists.

A primal, raw terror lit the boy’s eyes, when he saw Link was awake.

He shifted, moving excruciatingly slowly, and reached for his bag.

The child struggled with his sword, trying to lift it up as Link searched through his bag, but he couldn’t get it up in time. It slipped out of his grip, fell to the earth with a thump, and the child fell as well, losing his balance.

He flinched away from the food, when Link tossed it to him, but he couldn’t even pull his legs free of the cloak.

The Kokiri had gone through his things again. They’d redone his hair, taken his shirt and left a tunic made of what felt like moss in its place. His arrows had been replaced with sticks of deku wood, worn smooth and shiny with use and tips curling into wicked, barbed tips. He’d had some books with him as well—they’d been taken, replaced with a crown of flowers that drooped crookedly across his forehead.

His body was covered in scars, star-shaped marks and thin, whip-like lines.

He dressed slowly, careful of aggravating his injuries—they might not have been bleeding, but they all hurt as if they were fresh wounds.

Standing was…tiring. The Sheikah scrambled, flailed as far away from Link as he could get—which was not very far. He still hadn’t gotten free of the cloak.

He sheathed his sword, pulled out one of the deku sticks, and handed it to the child. Sat him up, untangled him from the cloak. The boy was frozen, clutching the stick to his chest and staring with wide, terrified eyes. Again, Link draped the cloak over his shoulders—bloody or not, the boy was so thin he would freeze without it.

He left the child there, turned and began to search the clearing.

He found what he was looking for on the other side of the spire—the plants bare, fruit piled neatly in a pyramid at their base.

He left a mirror in its place—he didn’t have much else in the way of trinkets left—and carried them back around the spire, laying them down carefully so not to break the skin on the fruit.

The boy was where he had left him, though he pointed the barbed end of the stick at Link when he returned.

It took an hour to get the boy to relax even a little bit, and to begin addressing his wounds. The Kokiri had been far crueler to him than they’d been to Link—he had to stitch up a number of cuts, the boy sitting still as stone while he did so. Alfonso had given him some healing ointment, and Link smeared that over the injuries before bandaging them.

“What do you want?”

Link paused, hand stretched out to the child, the food he’d offered earlier in it. The boy made no move to take it, and Link lowered his arm slowly, put it away before pulling out a small book—the only one the Kokiri had left him—full of blank pages, and a stick of charcoal.

_You’re hurt._

Large, fearful red orbs stared unblinking at him.

_How long have you been here?_

The Sheikah didn’t answer, just shrank in on himself.

_Your people should have taught you about the Kokiri._

“They’re dead, because of _you_.” It was the first time the Sheikah had spoken with anything other than fear. Link tilted his head to the side, studied the child.

_You’ll die if I leave you alone._

“What do you want?!”

Link picked up one of the fruits, pressed his thumb into its skin and held it out away from him when it popped, the fluid inside staining his hands as it splashed onto the ground.

“…It’s a tear of light.” The Sheikah said slowly, folding his arms across his chest tightly. Link nodded.

Slowly, the boy seemed to realize what it was for. Realized what Link meant.

“Why? You’re Hylian.”

_Never killed a Sheikah before. Don’t plan on it now, especially a child. Leaving you alone would be doing so._

Link put the book away and grabbed a second tear of light—and the boy didn’t move, didn’t panic. He was still tense, still fearful, but he let Link break the fruit over his head and scrub the liquid into his hair.

The Sheikah’s white-blonde locks turned a dark brown as the fruit’s syrup began to take effect, and after a few moments even the roots of the hair were the standard dirt-colored shade most Hylians had.

The boy applied the rest himself, gathering liquid on his fingertips and press it to his eyes carefully.

Link scrubbed his hands against the moss at his feet, getting as much of the liquid off as he could. They were days from any known civilization, but in the event the Kokiri had let any other Hylians wander Faron freely, he wanted no one to suspect him—or the boy.

He’d take him someplace safe. Eldin—it was the stronghold of the Sheikah, the first place they had taken when the war had started. It was impenetrable, untouchable. But that meant that there was no one to kill the boy there. Lanayru was surrounded by as-of-yet Hylian territory, and Faron had been marked as lost because of the Lost Wood’s activity, not necessarily because of the Sheikah.

“…Why do they like you?”

Link blinked, surprised, and looked up at the boy. He was pointing, over Link’s shoulder. Link turned, and saw something flash through the trees, fleeing before he could get a good look at it.

They had, he realized, probably attacked the Sheikah because he could see them so clearly. Eyes to see the Truth, after all…

He shrugged, and packed up. The boy stayed where he was, moving his hands slowly over the moss as he tugged the cloak closer around his shoulders, the deku stick resting gently on his lap.

It was wrong, to see brown eyes staring up at him.

“They know who you are.” The boy murmured, shifting uneasily as Link stood up. That made him frown, look at the boy curiously.

The boy used the stick to stand, flinching away when Link offered a hand and swishing the barbed tip at him. The tip scored a thin line across his palm—barely more than a scratch.

“… _I_ know who you are.”

And he put the stick down.


	4. Chapter 4

The village was small, but well-fortified and every building built sturdy and strong. A teen and an older man let them in, looking alarmed by their appearance. Armed with spears and old swords desperately in need of better care, they were clad in leather armor and bits of rusting Sheikah metal—taken from corpses, Link assumed.

“Are you alright? You—you went through the Lost Woods?! Are you mad?!” The teen demanded, eyes round with awe and disbelief. The older man pressed his elbow gently to the boy’s side, silencing him. They had recognized the gifts the Kokiri had given him. As well they should, considering they lived so close to them.

“Any news from the other provinces? If you don’t mind me asking, stranger.” He added respectfully, and Link smiled, glancing at the boy clinging to his side, half-hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.

The Sheikah clutched his hand tighter, pressed closer to his side, but looked up and spoke.

“He can’t talk.”

The two villagers traded surprised, and then eager, looks.

“Was your brother a soldier, then?” The hope in the man’s voice…

But Link couldn’t afford to train them, couldn’t afford to fight for them. Not until the boy was safe, in any case. And the villagers seemed to be doing very well for themselves, considering.

“He’s not my brother. We were…the Forest Children attacked our wagon and…he found me before they…”

The old man looked up, and Link met his gaze readily, the sudden suspicion there.

“Few could entice the Kokiri to give up their prey…or to receive such gifts as you have. Even those of us who have spent our entire lives here find trouble, if we don’t stay close to the village.”

“He traded with them.” The Sheikah said simply, and Link used his free hand to pull the tunic up, show the Kokiri-healed scars covering every inch of his stomach. The villagers regarded the marks solemnly, the younger man looking confused.

“…Few would act with what honor you have, stranger. I am Rusl, and this is Fado. You and the boy are welcome here, for as long as you may stay.”

Link’s eyes widened in surprise, startled at the sudden formality the man was showing. The Sheikah didn’t seem to know what to say either, just pressed closer to Link’s side when he shook his head, though he did murmur a soft ‘thank you’.

They directed them to the inn after that, though they made another attempt to convince Link to help them, to fight for them, and the Sheikah declined for him.

The boy had not mentioned his name yet, and Link didn’t think he would—after his cryptic statement in the woods, he’d spoken very little, and the days had passed uneventfully until they had found the village. The Kokiri had followed them, paraded behind them until they had reached what was obviously well-traveled forests, and then disappeared like smoke. The boy’s nerves were shot, though Link had taken comfort in their presence—it kept most of the more dangerous creatures that roamed the woods away from them.

The inn was small, and as soon as he set foot in it, silent. There were only a few locals, but they all stopped and stared as he ushered the child in front of him, up to the bar where a young woman waited, blonde hair cut short and choppy. Her green eyes were wide, startled, and flickered uncertainly between the two of them.

“…We…want a room.” The boy said quietly, and though his voice was shy and uncertain, he kept his fear well hidden. Link only knew that he was afraid because he knew the boy’s truth.

“Are you…?”

“He can’t talk.” Her eyes got even larger.

“It’s—um, it’s five Rupees a night. We—we only have one room left. Only have the three rooms…never had cause for more.” She added, as if in apology, and Link nodded as he pulled out fifteen rupees. The Sheikah needed more time to recover, and he needed some time to get adequate supplies for the two of them. He was more than adapt at keeping himself fed and supplied, but with the Sheikah still so weak and still little more than skin-and-bones, Link wasn’t willing to attempt the journey unprepared.

The girl led them up a flight of stairs located right beside the bar, which opened into a very short hallway with three doors, each on a different wall. They were given the room to the far right, and as soon as Link had taken a key the woman went back downstairs, telling them food would be available downstairs, two meals a day included in the price of their rooms and other meals only a rupee each.

Cheap, but with such a small village, they probably didn’t see more than thirty rupees on a good year.

The room was small, but comfortable. A single bed dominated the far wall, with a chair and a small dresser narrowing the already narrow room.

The Sheikah looked up at him, as Link set his packs on the chair and sighed, stretching his arms.

“…Can I stay up here?”

Link nodded, unbuckled his sword and tilted the hilt towards the boy before laying it atop the dresser.

The boy nodded, and scrambled up onto the bed, seizing the only pillow and folding his body around it as he let himself flop onto his side.

“Are you going to listen?” Link nodded again, lips quirking upwards. The boy phrased things strangely, not truly asking what he wanted to know, but it wasn’t too hard to understand what he meant.

“…Don’t tell me, please. If…” Link met his gaze, the boy’s round, watery eyes staring over the top of the pillow at him. Worried.

That was something the Hylians didn’t have, in the war. A cohesion. Where every one of them looked at the others and saw a fellow Hylian, was loyal because of that shared fact. The Sheikah did. And it may have made things more painful for them, but it was an invaluable asset too. For even the child to feel that same way…

He tilted his head, and whatever tension had been in the boy’s frame fled. He closed his eyes, only to reopen them when Link pressed a hand to his arm, dropping to his knees. He pointed at the door with his free hand.

“I won’t let anyone in. I’ll ask who’s there.”

That made Link smile, and he pushed himself to his feet. He paused for a moment, surveying the room—but the inn was very unlikely to be a dangerous place, even for the child. He left, taking care to close the door softly behind him, and headed back downstairs to the common room.

The woman brought him a bowl of stew and some bread, as well as a mug of ale—thoroughly watered down, by Link’s own request, though that had been hard to explain.

He’d chosen a seat in the middle of the room, at a very small table isolated off to the side. It was getting late, and though there were only a few other people currently, more were beginning to trickle in.

They all eyed him curiously with the same mix of respect and fear that the guardsman, Rusl, had had. He was sure that they all knew where he’d received the scars spiraling up from the edges of his sleeves, dancing silvery lines up his collar. He’d made no attempt to hide them, and he wouldn’t, but word traveled so fast in small towns…

He was not uncomfortable with that. As long as they did not request his aide again, he would be content.

“Been four days since those hunters left.” One of the newcomers muttered, sliding into a stool at the bar. The girl who’d shown Link his room glanced up quickly at the speaker, and then nodded. Link took care not to look at them directly, though he listened carefully.

“How long do you think we should give them?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re renting out the rooms like the place is hot, Ilia.”

“You are an asshole, Talo.”

A chuckle, and a shrug.

“I’d give ‘em until the end of the week. Probably dead already, though. They didn’t pay much heed to Rusl’s warnings about the Kokiri.”

Link hid his frown in his mug. They could have meant anything by ‘hunters’, but…he would take no chances. They were probably hunting Sheikah. Depending on how skilled they were, they’d be able to see through the boy’s disguise with very little trouble, and that would…well.

They might have to cut their stay short. He would prefer to be gone before the hunters returned, of course, but he’d paid for three days’ stay and cutting that short with the boy in such an obviously weak state would be suspicious.

Link let out a slow breath and set his mug down. The movement jarred loose some of the braids the Kokiri had woven, and the soft clatter of beads earned a glance from the man, Talo. He’d not been looking at them while he’d been listening and gave no indication of noticing his look, but the man still changed the subject.

Link’s attention drifted—he’d no interest in crops or livestock. The presence of hunters was more than enough a worry.

He resolved to finish his meal and then return to his room, to warn the boy. And…well, sleep, too. It’d been a long while since he’d had the luxury of a _bed_. He avoided civilization like the plague when traveling unless he had no other choice, but he might as well take advantage of it while he had it.

Link didn’t realize how late it was until people began to filter in. What was left of his stew was cold, and it had gotten darker—the girl, Ilia, was lighting lanterns around the room. The villagers that were streaming in all stopped and stared at him for a moment before taking their seats.

He should get upstairs.

Link had just stood up when the door flew open, slamming hard into the wall, and two men stumbled in.

They weren’t dressed like the other villagers, and their weapons were clearly scavenged from Hylian soldiers. Being dragged between the two of them was a Sheikah.

Link froze. Everyone froze. The two men tossed the Sheikah against the wall, laughing uproariously in victory. The villagers stood, all in vary degrees of alarm.

Mad ruby eyes met his, and Link’s blood ran cold.

They hadn’t gagged him. These hunters were amateurs, likely bandits looking for a bounty, and they _hadn’t gagged the Sheikah_.

Eyes he knew better than his own smiled, and the Sheikah tilted his head back—

— _and spoke._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for that implied sexual assault at the very end  
> and everybody dying at the start.

His head felt fuzzy, and his vision was blurry. Breathing hurt, and he felt such a strong sense of disconnect with his body that he barely felt the shards of clay digging into his palms.

The screaming had stopped at some point, though Link couldn’t have pinpointed when. He could still smell the blood, taste it on his tongue. His own, others’.

He blinked, struggling to focus, and found himself staring at the sightless eyes of the girl, Ilia.

Blood pooled beneath her, glinted wetly at her ears and lips. Link forced himself to stand, shaking.

Bodies lay slumped along the walls, the floor. Tables and chairs had been overturned, and flames licked at a corpse that had fallen into the fireplace. Singed hair and burning flesh was a smell he was more familiar with than most, but he still gagged. He stumbled over to the bar and leaned against it for a moment, fighting back the nausea and horror rising in him.

Everything hurt. Ached. And he still felt as if he wasn’t getting enough air, as if he was drowning.

Something was said in a tongue Link could not understand, and he found himself moving. Stepping over the bodies, through pools of blood, to the Sheikah sitting against the far wall. Smiling.

His body knelt in front of him, meeting his violent eyes.

“You were always a strange one, Captain.” The Sheikah sighed, and Link swallowed hard as the Sheikah shifted forward, leaning away from the wall. His forehead brushed Link’s, the smile growing wider.

“Untie me.”

Again, his body moved at the Sheikah’s order. He couldn’t stop himself.

The Sheikah’s hands were bound, as were his ankles. Link’s hands moved to his side, to a dagger hidden on the inside of his belt, and made quick work of the rope.

As soon as his hands were free the Sheikah reached up and pressed a hand to Link’s cheek.

“You are a hard man to find, you know.”

And he pulled Link’s face down to his, pressed a hard kiss to his mouth.

Link could not breathe.

The soft rattle of feet on wood sounded behind him, and the Sheikah released him, still smiling. A little wider, a little hungrier this time. There was blood streaking his lips.

And then Link’s blade slammed into the ground between them, narrowly missing the Sheikah.

“Get away from him!” Something smashed into his side and he hit the ground with a thud, jarring free of whatever hold the Sheikah had had on him.

It was the boy, eyes wide and terrified as he scrambled around to stare at the Sheikah.

The danger in the Sheikah’s smile faded, at the sight of the child, and Link swallowed hard as he pushed himself to his feet, pulling the boy with him. The boy was stiff, tense at his touch. He was _terrified_ , Link realized.

And that…struck strangely.

Why would the boy be so afraid of one of his own—especially one that had cared so deeply, risked so much, to rescue their own before?

“Do you know—“

“Of course I know who he is, child. Now—“ The Sheikah stood up, picked up the sword as he did so.

He was injured. His free hand pressed so hard into his side that his fingers—or at least what was visible of them—where white. And red, with blood. Standing seemed to have taken more effort than it should have, and the Sheikah fell silent with a hiss of pain.

While he was occupied, Link tapped the boy’s shoulder and nodded upstairs. The boy froze again, then bolted for their room. The Sheikah made no move to stop or even watch the boy, though he looked up at Link with cold, unreadable eyes.

“What are you doing with a Sheikah boy, Captain?”

Link was having a hard enough time keeping himself from vomiting, let alone speaking. He reached forward, gaze never leaving the Sheikah’s, and took his sword back.

Something hit the door behind him and Link spun around so quickly he almost _did_ throw up.

The door swung open and revealed a horse. A horse he recognized immediately.

Link closed his eyes, swallowed hard. The Sheikah murmured something again and he opened his eyes as his body moved forward. He caught the Sheikah as he leaned into him and found himself helping the Sheikah onto the horse before climbing on himself, holding the Sheikah carefully in front of him.

The boy scrambled back down into the inn, Link’s bags dragging behind him and his cloak absolutely smothering him.

“What’s this?”

“You’ll kill him. I won’t—I won’t let you.”

The two Sheikah stared at one another for a long moment, and then the Sheikah stretched himself against Link, sighing.

“Come, then. I’ve no time to waste.”

The Sheikah pulled them to a halt in the center of the village, before a decrepit fountain gurgling with algae-thick water. The earth around it had been moved recently, Link noted. Villagers lay where they had been standing, corpses cooling in the evening air around it. Throughout the entire village, he suspected.

His body moved again, helped the Sheikah down from the steed and steadied the boy when he nearly lost his balance. He helped the Sheikah move the soil, and though inwardly he recoiled, did not flinch in pulling out the corpse buried beneath it.

She was naked, body broken and shredded almost beyond recognition. Pieces of her were missing, and she was painted in fluids Link did not allow himself to dwell on. Her eye sockets were thick with dirt and dried gore. It had been a while since Link has seen someone mutilated this badly.

“You didn’t think I killed them without reason, did you?” The Sheikah murmured, fingers brushing through Link’s hair.

No, no he hadn’t.

“Come. We’re a ways from where we are meant to be.”

And they left, leaving nothing but the dead behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we finally get to some new content  
> warning for uuuh the fucking  
> and technically torture  
> but it is also technically totally consensual!

A shudder of pure agony ran through him and he let out a raspy, choking cough as pain seized him. Metal rattled behind him as his hands jerked at his chains, legs kicking reflexively as he threw his head back.

Cheerful crimson eyes smiled at him, from across the crypt, and a long _starved_ laugh escaped the Sheikah.

“If you can’t fight it, Captain, you are useless to me.” He murmured, and he _spoke_ again.

Link’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and this time it wasn’t _pain_ , but _pleasure_ that struck him.

Hands pressed against his chest—bare skin on bare skin—and the Sheikah settled on his lap with a chuckle. He’d stripped Link down to his trousers, after they’d arrived. Made sure the horse was taken care of, and made sure the boy was safe in another abandoned mausoleum, before ordering Link into the one they currently resided in.

The Sheikah had taken them to an abandoned graveyard. Not the subtlest place to hide, but no Hylian would ever approach a _graveyard_ while Hyrule was at war with the Sheikah. It had been emptied of dead already, but magic still clung in the air like cobweb. Link had felt it settle on his skin like a blanket before the Sheikah had taken him into the mausoleum, though now all he could _feel_ was _need_.

The Sheikah ground his hips down, rocking into the swell between Link’s legs, smiling as he moved _painfully_ slowly. Link’s breath came in raspy gasps, and he fought the urge to scream, because his throat would just close up. He was aware enough to fear that might suffocate him, but little else. His body burned, _ached._

“How long, I wonder, before this drives you insane?”

There was something unlike hunger in those fierce orbs, he thought. And he was leaning forward before he knew what he was doing.

The Sheikah tilted his head back, let Link’s mouth drag against his throat, teeth scraping against his skin as he whined. He tasted of sweat and salt and blood, and something Link didn’t have words for.

“I need you to _fight_ , Captain. I need to be able to _trust_ you. Or I will have to kill you.”

And _fuck_ , Link couldn’t bring himself to care, and he ran his tongue along the Sheikah’s throat—

The Sheikah spoke again, and Link’s body slammed into the ground, his entire body suddenly immobile. A smirk answered his snarl, coy and satisfied, and the Sheikah slowly shimmied his way down Link’s body, pulling his trousers down with him. Bright, feverish eyes racked across his body slowly, _savoring_ , and Link’s muscles _screamed_ against whatever force held him down.

“How long do you think you can last before I make you scream?” The Sheikah asked, voice low and rough with amusement, desire. Link watched, mouth twisted as air hissed out from between his clenched teeth. And the Sheikah took him in his mouth.

Link wasn’t quite _sure_ when something snapped – it could have been minutes, hours, _days_ after that, after his thoughts descended into a muddle of _pain_ and _want_ and _need_. Whatever power the Sheikah was using to hold him down was – _he was screaming now, the Sheikah pulling back every_ fucking _time he got close –_

It wasn’t until the Sheikah was naked, though, just as fucking _wrecked_ as he was, wicked, brilliant eyes not leaving Link’s –

And he _moved_. Twisted, ripped away from the invisible weight pinning him, got the Sheikah under him, arms twisted painfully above his head as he caught his mouth in a searing kiss and –

The Sheikah spoke again, muffled and laughing against Link’s mouth, and that same invisible force seized his body – and Link _screamed,_ roared against it and it slid away from him like water.

The Sheikah was hot and hard and moaning against him, and Link sucked in a sharp, shaky breath as his vision swam –

The last thing he remembered was the taste of blood on his tongue and a low laugh against his ear.


End file.
